To Lean On You
by hatchlingpendragon
Summary: Just as there is more than one type of strength, there is more than one way to weaken. How you cope with the weakening is what would make all the difference, and that can be a strength in its own right.


It has been a particularly rough adventure, the one they're having. His flame was going low, barely a thin film of blue. The air stung, and he hurt. He felt like small embers under the wind, weak and exposed - one gust too hard and he'd go right out.

"Oh, scrap." he heard her say. It was hard to hear over the ringing in his head. She's coughing.

"Scrap, scrap, _scrap_ , you - you gotta help me out here, Igs, _please_."

He feels cool hands on his bare shoulders, but they quickly leave him with the sound of sizzling and the smell of burnt meat.

"Sonofashucker!"

Sorry, he thinks. His thoughts move sluggishly through his head, any action felt like pushing through stagnant magma. His matrix was unstable.

"I-Igs? Dangit, Igni, if you die out on me it will freaking serve you right!" he heard her growl, as she'd begun moving about to do he knew not what. "Serves you freaking right - what did you think would happen against water demons, you stupid torch head? I could've handled 'em!"

Not water, hadn't been just water - _acid_. He'd seen it before she had. It was better to have been him than her, but he couldn't tell her that right now. She'd probably figure it out later once the adrenaline rush zonked. Right now it hurt him to even wheeze much less speak. But it was better to have been him. He'd managed to burn off most of the stuff that hit him, due to the accelerants in its composition, and he was simultaneously able to destroy the demons from the resulting explosion. Flame King make baddies go boom. _Big_ boom. He'd been correct in classifying them as a sulfuric-based subspecies, judging by the smell of them. He scienced the _math_ out of them. But liquid was still liquid, an explosion was still an explosion, and he was paying for it.

He still totally kicked butt, though.

Hands touch him again, hooking under his armpits, hands now sheathed in what might've been thick leather, and she begins to drag him. She's strong, but they're both tired, beaten up, and he's still aflame, and however weak it may be it is still uncontrolled. The leather smokes a little and it _stinks_ even more, adding to the leftover fumes of the battle's aftermath.

"Dangit, dangit, _dangit_ , Igni . . ."

He groans as he's scraped over the rocks.

"Yuh-you'll be fine, you big baby. We - we just gotta get to fresh air, c-can't freaking breathe down here."

She sounds mad, hoarse, choking on the fumes and her frustration, but he knows she doesn't really mean it. She's just scared. He doesn't blame her.

"I . . . I didn't mean it."

Knew it.

"I-I didn't mean it, seriously, don't really die."

"Nnngugh." he manages. So coherent.

"Tell me later, after not dying, we're almost there." She pauses, and he hears her snarl. "Spit, scrap, shuck - hang on."

One hand changes its hold, going under his knees, the other cradling his shoulders, and now he's being lifted off the ground. He feels her arms and the shape of her body against his side. Through the blurriness of his vision he sees the white of her hat and the pink of her neck, and they're both already beginning to char and redden, respectively. The crazy girl is carrying him.

"Ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch!"

She's sprinting, jostling him with each stride, little jolts of piquant pain, and now and again he feels near weightless with each jump up that she makes, and he wants her to just let him go, he wants to _stop hurting her_ but he doesn't dare struggle because nothing he can do now would help, except to try and stabilize, try to minimize or at least harmlessly disperse his heat but doing anything of the sort is so difficult right now.

"Ouch ouch ouch curse word curse word ouch ouch ouch!"

Cursing runs through his head, too, though more fitful and not as energetic. She's cursing enough for the both of them.

"Ouch ouch curse word worse word worse curse word ouch OUCH!"

A final hard landing jars them both to the bones, and he was barely able to stifle a very unmanly whimper. His flames still stutter.

"Sorry, dude, _sorry_." she hissed through her teeth.

Forget the apologies, you stupid crazy girl, just put me down.

But of course the human doesn't let him go yet, jogging forward until he feels the first draft of night air, cool and painful but it is fresh, clean, and good, and his flame starts a little back to life, which is both good and bad. Her breathing in his ear is high and thin, a rhythm of quiet agony, her swearing dwindled to whispers under her breath as she has to carry him those last yards. She's sweating, maybe even crying - it'd be touching if she was actually crying over him, even if he didn't mean for her to - regardless, the moisture from her brings more little pinpoints of pain that hurt in more ways than the physical.

He senses that they make it out of the cave mouth, a little further and she finally deposits him onto the ground. The grass around him starts to smolder, little green blades go alight in little brief lines of warmth before they crumble into ash. It only goes so far, though, and he's soon laying in a narrow outline of slow-charring earth. The fuel is meager, fleeting relief. This area is still damp from past rain.

She'd run off before he could register, she'd probably said something, but he hadn't heard.

He manages to roll himself over, groaning at the feeling of raw skin and various bruises inside and outside that he hadn't noticed before. He's probably one big lump of warm, tenderized . . . mush. Not his most dignified moment.

Well.

So much for those cave ruins being abandoned.

Could've been an army of undead skeletons?

Nope.

Could've been a nest of big ugly insects?

Nuh-uh.

Had to be a clan of demons - _liquid, acidic_ demons. Lesser demons, to be sure, but still, O - U - C - H.

He hears scraping sounds, far away, and they are coming closer, something heavy and rough dragging over the dirt. He tenses when the sound comes near him, tries to move, he grunts at how this movement pulls at several muscles he didn't know he had and certainly didn't know they could hurt this much. He is vulnerable, weary, and he can't do anything about it.

"G-gotta keep quiet, Igs," he hears her whisper, and he immediately relaxed. Whew. He hears thumps as some things land next to him, around him, and she starts pushing them against him, and from the feel and the smell he can tell that what she is piling is broken wood. "It'll be bad enough once somethin' notices your light."

He grunts as she puts a few branches on top of him.

"Try starting on these." He barely hears her. "I'll be back with more, just please don't go out."

She runs off again, leaving him to scavenge more wood.

He gingerly takes the branches and hugs them to his chest, seething slightly to himself when he can barely get them to start smoldering. That was just pathetic. They were probably damp. Still, they begin to smoke, and he feeds first off the resulting sparks, then finally gets little flames going. He spends these before he reaches again for one of the larger split logs she'd put near him. It's nearly as big as he is. But he is hungry and hunger gives an emergency reserve of strength, the need for more fuel. Moving hurts, but he does it, partially pulling the wood to him and tugging himself towards it, until he has one arm thrown over it like a life raft.

It begins to catch, and finally the feeling of warmth is feeding back into him, and he props his head against it like a pillow, breathing out slowly.

He's grateful he's immune to splinters.

Those seem like they hurt.

He probably closed his eyes for only a few seconds, enjoying the darkness for a bit before his ears were suddenly treated to the noise of her yelling. More thumps of wood jostled him awake. Large branches crack and splinter as they land, broken open from the force of her efforts, exposing the fresh heartwood inside. It smells good, rich and spicy.

"—and if you don't freaking wake up I'll feed your freaking fire lions all the firecrackers they want - and they'll get fat!"

He chuckled weakly. She doesn't notice, too busy stacking more and more wood around him, whole cords of it. He can see more clearly, starting to cast light against the darkness. From the size of these, it looks like she'd torn down whole trees for him. Sweet of her.

"You hear me? They'll get _fat,_ fat and _lazy._ Then they'll just be big softie fiery house cats that will want to sleep in people's fireplaces and let people cook bacon on them. Do you _hear_ that, _Iggy?"_ He hated being called 'Iggy' and she knew that. "If you don't rise and shine, for the love of Glob, your badawesome pride will become cute, cuddly, roly-poly bacon cookers!"

"Do that and I'll lay an ancient curse of fire upon you," he mumbles, shifting around a little in the nest of wood she made for him, "That all your bacon will burn."

He hears her stop what she's doing.

There's a scrape and a scuffle and he sees her peeking over the edge of his nest, first come the ears of her hat and then her face, her eyes blinking against the rising smoke. Her grin is weak, watery and happy. He can't see her too clearly through the rising haze, but she looks okay. Good. That was - that was good.

"Hey, you." she says simply, sounding tired.

He lifts a hand, attempting to wave.

She reaches down to touch his hand, but he quickly pulls it away.

"Still unstable." he warns her.

Her face fell a little at that.

"Oh. Are you, um, are you gonna be okay? Not dying?"

He shakes his head. "No, no." He shifts again to get comfortable on the bed of ash and embers forming beneath him, "Not dying. Just a little . . . burnt out."

She laughs, the laugh is a little too bright, forced. "No kidding."

Igni offers up a smile, and Fionna manages to return it.

"Good." she decides, "Well, I mean, obviously not _good_ , duh, but still, well, good."

He nods, he understands.

For a moment they're just staying like that, watching each other while set apart by a barrier of slow-burning wood.

"I'm gonna go get you more, at some point this stuff won't be enough," She starts to go down, then hesitates. "You'll really be okay?"

"Feeling brighter by the second," he replies, waving her off. "Take care out there, my henchman."

She scowled down at him. "Dude, you did _not_ just tell me to 'hench'."

He grins. "Oh, forgive me. My _hero,_ then, please take care in saving me from my plight."

"If you can actually say that without the fake swoon, that'd be awesome."

"Hey, I'm injured, traumatized even, I actually do feel a bit faint."

"I know. I carried your big baby butt all the way up here."

"I am not an infant." he protested.

"Could've fooled me, Flambo."

"I _am_ a King, you know."

"Ah, my bad, I carried your _royal_ big baby butt all the way up here, so deal with it."

She stuck her tongue out at him and then disappeared before he could say anything in retort.

He still laughed as the sounds of her running feet dwindled away, even if laughing hurt a little. She has it coming for calling him 'Iggy'. He was still a little worried, though. It'd been too dark for him to make out the extent of her injuries, and he was sure she had some, at least from him - and he knew she'd been in range of the blast radius, even if he'd absorbed the brunt of it. She was strong, she was _gloriously_ strong, but he knew she was not unstoppable.

Still, she was _stubborn_ , and that stubbornness has saved both their hides on many occasions where strength alone had failed them. Her stubbornness would probably see them both through this night, until he was himself again. Better to hurry up with that, then. So he laid back and feasted on his makeshift shelter, his flames spreading and rekindling, feeling himself glowing a little brighter as time went on. The sound of flames beginning to roar around him was soothing, almost like the purrs of his pride, the licks of warmth easing his aches like the heat of their fur. This comfort, coupled with his wounds and sheer exhaustion, made him once again succumb to inevitable sleep.

* * *

. . .

* * *

By the time he woke up, the sun was a washed-out sliver peeking over the horizon, its light casting golden beams through the foliage and mist, turning the sky a weak, sleepy golden-gray. Wherever the early morning shadows fell, he could see the remnants of frost crusting the grass. _Natural_ frost, thank goodness, not signs of the Ice Hag. It had been a cold night, it seemed. It was still cold even now, so much so that the air about him steamed.

He sat up slowly and stretched, feeling _good_. Flames crackled and spat with his movements, working out the kinks of slumber. He reclined in a generous pile of cinders and charcoal, still-hot embers glowing cheerily about him, the aftermath of a massive bonfire. He'd heard of some cultures burning their dead in a pyre. Well, the reverse worked for his people. Where others cremated their dead, his kind renewed themselves, the equivalent of taking a good, long rest in a luxurious bed. It'd been a while since he'd indulged in a good pyre.

His stirring had relit the wood that hadn't yet burned properly, and he hummed in pleasant surprise, touching the small flames and enjoying it. In testing, he took an unburned twig and held it, watching it spark for a moment and then stop, now untouched by his heat.

There. Stable.

He stood, shedding a layer of soot as he did, and shook himself free, grinning, imagining how he must've looked. He probably looked good. He really _felt_ good. Brushing himself off, carding his fingers through the flame of his hair, he looked around, taking his surroundings in properly.

They were in the grassy clearing just outside the cavern, slightly encompassed by the bare bone remains of the extended ruins of what might've once been some temple, before time and neglect had left it to rot. It was currently displaying an abandoned battlefield. Here and there the bodies of various monsters were strewn about, bashed in with rocks and slashed apart by blades.

 _A_ blade.

 _Her_ blade.

He looked around more quickly, frantically, panic seizing his heart guts like a jagged vise, before quickly releasing him, leaving him in a breath when he found her.

She was sitting on a stump roughly hacked into the shape of a chair, the tip of her sword partly buried in the earth, the metal still stained with the gore of her enemies. That ever-present lock of her hair, slightly unkempt, partially obscured her face. She slept with both hands folded over the handle as her pillow, her cheek squished against the braid of her knuckles, mouth slightly open with her faint snoring. She drooled a little. Weariness lined and darkened her closed eyes. She is disheveled and drained, from having kept vigil over him.

As dirty as she was and as unflattering the position is, backlit by a beam of rising light, she is still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Coming closer, though, he could see the fuller extent of her trials.

Dark marks on her skin indicate bruising and battering, small cuts and scrapes abound, her knuckles are split, evidence of her brawling. What bothers him most are the burns, the places where he can trace his presence. He sees the places where her skin looks raw, shiny and unnaturally reddened, her hands had blistered and bled - he could see the redness coloring the handle of her weapon. While these days she'd adopted a more practical adventuring costume, it, too, had suffered from his contact. Charred in some places and dangerously frayed near others, ashy fibers shed like dandruff with the motions of her breathing. The same wrong color tainted the exposed skin of her arms, her neck, her cheek. Ah, spit, even a little bit of her hair had burnt, too.

 _Spit_.

He must have made a noise, because she snorted and started awake, blinking blearily in the light.

"Mmgh." She sat up proper, clearly stiff, rubbing an eye yet still managing to smile at him, brighter than the sunrise. "Mornin', sleepyhead."

He nodded, able to smile in kind, "You, too. I'd call you 'sleeping beauty', bu-ut..."

She scowled, "I look that bad?"

"Terrible," he agreed, looking her over and thinking the exact opposite, "I might just be scarred for life."

"Hey, hey, careful what you say about scars, you're not exactly lookin' pretty yourself."

"Yes, well, I - wait, really?"

He looked down at himself, and then grimaced. His body was still mending itself from splashes of acid. Patches of skin were more red than orange, pulsing like pools of lava, making him look piebald, or with the slight bubbling sheen it maybe looked like he had a strange rash. He poked at one such spot in experiment, making a face at the residue that came off on his finger. It was slightly oozy. "Well. I _feel_ good anyway," he decided, slightly miffed.

"Speak for yourself."

She groaned as she stood, using her sword as a prop to help her stand. She rubbed at the small of her back, wincing.

"Great. My mouth tastes like funk and I'm feeling like an old lady."

"I'll send word to the nursing home," he told her, moving forward in case she really did fall over, "Give them some time to arm themselves."

"Har-de-har-har."

He offered a hand to help her straighten, and she looked at him for a moment, slightly skeptical.

"You stable now?"

"I'm stable." he assured her. Fionna smiled. She took his hand without hesitation then, sheathing her sword and letting him put her arm over his shoulder to escort her back to their campsite, picking their staggering, merry way back through the carnage.

"Just like old times, huh?" he mentioned, "The instability." He's deciding to, at least for now, suppress the thrill her touch still gave him.

"Yeah. It hurt then, too." she commented, and elbowed him in the side when he grumbled, laughing at his cringing, "Relax, Igs, I'm kidding." Now _she_ pulled a face, inspecting her elbow, "Bleh. You're getting your pus all over me."

"Is it hurting you?"

"Well, no."

"Tough beans, then. I'm helping you carry your big baby butt back to camp, so deal with it."

A surprised laugh. He totally stole her line, but she doesn't begrudge him his sass.

Looking around, he notices more signs of her about the clearing. Branches and whole trees had been knocked down and torn apart, leaving ragged stumps and shreds of woody debris. He could see trails in the earth from where she'd dragged the crude lumber. Impressive, and flattering. The girl would level a forest for him. He smirked. She probably didn't think much of it, but he found some pleasantness in seeing it as receiving a meta 'Get Well' bouquet. Where others would give flowers, she gave him trees.

He looks down at one of the bodies they have to step over.

"Wild night?" he wondered aloud.

"Yeah. You burned bright enough to make a beacon. Brought some big uglies out who wanted to bite off more than they could chew. Kinda literally."

Her grin was savage and sweet.

"I fed 'em knuckle sandwiches."

Then she turned thoughtful.

"And sword shish kabobs."

He could see her start to salivate.

"And monster meringue en flambe..."

"Are you hungry?" the Flame King guessed, smiling in amusement.

"Glob, yes."

* * *

. . .

* * *

"I wasn't aware meringue could be set on fire." he confessed, intrigued.

"Not usually," she replied, speaking through a mouthful of candied fruit, the kind that was good baked and caramelized with sugar. She swallowed, saying, "Gumball found out how to do it by accident." Of course he did. "It's delicious, sprinkled with fun and stuffed with awesome."

He grinned. Now the King recalled reasons to tolerate the existence of the Prince, camaraderie through a love of fire.

"You should try it some time." she added.

Igni mocked an expression of mortal terror.

Fionna snorted. "Don't you make me laugh with that face," she warned him, "You'll make me spit out my food."

"Of course." Through kingly if not heroic effort, he schooled his face into something more stoic. "Is this more to madam's liking?" he asked in as snobby a tone as he could. She was stifling giggles, shaking her head at him, stuffing her own face with more of the morsels.

They sat in silence occupied by her chewing. He absently sipped at a flask of Emberry juice, one of the few liquids he could take, feeling it sizzle and bubble pleasantly in his mouth and down his throat, filling his stomach well, reviving him.

"How did you get me out of there?" he asked, mostly out of curiosity, partly out of slight boredom.

"I ripped the hands off of this old mummified ogre corpse lying around down there, and I used those as gloves." she explained between bites.

He'd paused in raising the flask to his lips at that little revelation. Well, that had explained the stink.

". . . Cool." he decided. "Sick - but cool."

She snickered, "Yeah."

He looked at her hands and grimaced, "I still burned you."

She stopped eating to wave one of said hands at him.

"You couldn't help it."

"But I—"

"I said it wasn't your fault, man." she said, a little crossly, "I wouldn't've done any better. Well, if I were a flame-y person with a matrix thing, anyway."

He shifted uncomfortably, and she huffed, taking another small bite.

"If you wanna feel bad about something, then you could feel bad about taking the hit in the first place," she muttered, "I don't know if you heard, but I could've handled it."

He had to scoff at that. "I'm sorry, did I hear that right? I must still have ash in my ears. The _fleshy_ human could've handled _acid_ demons?"

"I've faced down worse, from the Nightosphere _and_ the Second Mushroom War, acid demons would've been a piece of cake. Evil cake."

"A piece of evil, face-melting cake," he pointed out, gesturing to his wounds, "I'm not fleshy, and look how I turned out."

She threw her hands up in the air, "Because _somebody_ had to go and blow them up," Her hands clenched in her lap as she seethed. With the burns, the action probably hurt. "Because _somebody_ had to steal _my_ job - because _somebody_ had to scare the living _scat_ out of me, Igni, jeez, I thought you were gonna go out on me."

". . . I take it you are still angry with me, then." he said carefully.

She glared, almost growling at him, before she looked away.

"Yeah." she muttered, rubbing at an eye, "Like, I want to shout at you or punch you in your stupid face kind of angry. I don't know what's - I'm just..."

"Tired?" he asked, wondering, "How much did you sleep?"

She shook her head without answering, which was answer enough. He looked her over, and noted how it was still cold out here. He could see her breath fog in the air, he could feel the steam he himself was giving off. Were her teeth gritting from frustration or from the chill? The fire he'd gotten going here for her was nowhere near the magnitude of his previous pyre. So the human before him was tired, worn down, probably still a little hungry, and cold.

Wordlessly, he stood up from his seat across from her, walking through the fire itself to reach her, the hot coals crunching under his feet like gravel. He scooped up the bag of candied fruit she'd dropped, holding it out for her to take. She did so reluctantly, and he sat next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"What are you doing, Igs?" she grumbled, but shifted to give him room, still embarrassed by her killing the good mood.

"Let me warm you?" he asked.

After a pause, she lowered her head in permission. He let himself brighten just a little, giving her radiant warmth instead of searing heat, and felt her relax under his arm, he heard her reluctant sigh. "You think being my personal heater's gonna get you out of this?" she asked him tiredly.

"I'm not just a heater, I'm a heater who gives hugs," he elaborated, instead of answering straight. He offered her his flask. "Drink." Her nose wrinkled, and he rolled his eyes. "You're cold and you're cranky. I'm warm, but this will help relax you. Please have a drink."

"You know _I'm_ not a baby, either," she warned him, taking the flask and trying a gulp - then erupting in a coughing fit when the stuff hit the back of her throat.

"I know," he agreed, patting her back to help her get it down. Her eyes watered and her breathing wheezed when she handed him back the flask. He took another swig from it himself before stowing it away, still rubbing her back.

"Aaaack." she spluttered, "Gllfzzngh. NNgh! I fughud - ugh - forgot how strong that stuff was," She wiped off her mouth, still hacking a little, "Yikes."

He nodded. "Eat some more." he then told her, gesturing to her food.

"UUUuugh." she groaned, realizing, "Dude, seriously, you don't have to treat me like I'm some - mmf?!"

Impatient, he'd gone ahead and stuffed a sizable chunk into her mouth, silencing her.

He ignored her glare as she had no choice but to chew, and he sighed.

"Let's agree that I'm already really, truly, genuinely sorry for scaring you and putting you in this position," he told her, "And then let's assume that I had my reasons and that they were _reasonable_ reasons that may well have been the best idea at the time. Now, _you're_ tired, _I'm_ rested, let me sort this out. _How_ was I stealing your job?"

She swallowed and coughed again a couple of times into her fist, and he saw how her knuckles were already scabbing over.

". . . We agreed once that I'm the hero, here," she said quietly, lowering her hand once her throat was clear. "And however nostalgic this all is? You're still a King - you're more important. I'm supposed to have your back, if you'd let me. Because we're _partners_ , man, we _both_ take the shots."

"My protector and my partner," he mused. He liked hearing her say that. "There wasn't much time back there to discuss a battle plan," he reminded her.

Fionna's scowl was dark and endearing at the same time.

He continued speaking in spite of her, "And I am _not_ more important."

"If you died I would've turned your pride into house pets - and your Kingdom would fall to burning pieces," she retorted, "And everything would get messed up."

"And if _you_ died," he answered bluntly, "I would've gone out in a literal blaze of a merciless, violent _thrash_. Then everything would _really_ get messed up."

She rolled your eyes, "Don't play that card." she chided him, "You're better than that, now."

He wasn't. He really, really wasn't. He was just smarter. But he wasn't going to argue with her there. She _needed_ better of him, now.

"Anyway, to sum it up: evil, face-melting cake," he continued. "I? I am not flesh. You? You are flesh. I came out better from this than you would have. It was not a cake you could've eaten. I would not have even let you try, because frankly," he jabbed a finger at her in emphasis, "I would _love_ your face to remain as it is, which is unmelted. I consider that more than enough reason for me to have taken the hit."

Before she could respond or argue, he spoke over her, _"Yes_ , your face is that important, _and_ I wouldn't say that I stole your job. You've taken the lion's share of the hits." He looked down at her, giving her shoulders a squeeze, his flames brushing against her without burning her. "You were very _heroic_ ," he said into her ear, gesturing to her wounds, "To save me, to care for me and protect me as you did. I couldn't ask for a better partner."

She laughed a little, flattered despite herself. "So I saved you from saving me from saving you, then?" she wondered, unconsciously leaning into his side.

"Exactly," he agreed, and before she could resist he tugged her closer, leaning in to kiss her cheek, a flash of warmth against the skin that made her jump.

"My hero."

"Alright, alright, quit it with the mush," she huffed, shoving him off a little, before adding, "I forgive you."

"Oh!"

He let her go to clutch at his heart, casting his eyes skyward.

"Her forgiveness - did I actually die, and this is Heaven?"

She punched him in the shoulder.

"Ouch!"

"That answer enough for ya, torch head?"

"That hurt!"

"Be glad it was your shoulder and not your face."

"It still hurt."

"Oh, don't whine, you know you can always hit back."

"I'd never. It's rude to fight old ladies."

"Why, you—!"

"Wait, no, not the face, _not the face!"_

* * *

. . .

* * *

Later he is stretched out on the ground, basking in the stronger sunlight while she worked on the more boring stuff.

"We didn't make it that far in," she noted. A small smoothed boulder is her makeshift table, while she's sketching out the cavern's position and some of its interior on a large map, marking it in red. "I don't think we can safely call it 'cleared' yet, at least not until we explore it further, but it was definitely hostile." She looked over at him. "Did it look like a temple to you, too?"

Without opening his eyes he raised an arm to give her a thumbs up, and she nodded, adding some more markings to the location, indicating possible interests. "Cool. Might be some good texts or treasures down there, that'll definitely make some people happy. I know this one historian over in the Circuit-Tree Kingdom who's looking for—"

He tuned her out, enjoying the sound of her voice over the words she spoke - words that were meaningless to him. He didn't really care about what or who the missions were for, as long as they were doing those missions together. He didn't care, then, if he'd have to do this service for the rest of his life, as long as she was doing it with him.

He opened his eyes when he realized at some point she'd stopped speaking. He looked over and saw her slumped over the rock, unmoving.

"Fionna?!"

Igni stood up quickly, flames whirling, moving to her and then heaving a sigh when a loud snore sounded from her. He peered down to look at her sleeping face, wincing when he realized she was about to drool on her map. "Fionna?" He gently shook her shoulder. "Princess?"

"Whazzat?!"

Her head collided sharply with his chin with a _CRACK! -_ and they both muffled their respective expletives.

". . . Bid mah tongue." he announced, feeling his jaw.

"Sorry," she mumbled, clutching at her skull, where she probably had another goose egg to add to her collection. "Ow."

"Ow." he agreed wholeheartedly.

After a brief period of nursing their 'friendly fire' wounds, Fionna glanced at him, slightly accusing.

"Did you call me 'princess'?"

"Nope."

"You did. You called me 'princess'."

"You were sleeping, probably dreamed it." But he had to add, "And technically you _are_ a princess."

She huffed at that. "You can give a cat a bone to chew on but that doesn't make her a dog," she drawled.

"So you've said." he conceded.

She glared, but dropped the subject.

"Did you need something?" she wondered instead, absently spreading out her map again, frowning down at it.

He shifted a little uneasily, "Well, yes. It's about dogs, actually." When he saw her look at him, her attention gained, he went ahead, "I think we should just wrap this up now, and head home. We've taken care of the worst of this that another adventurer can safely explore the rest. I think your guard dogs will be missing you by now."

"My what?" Her confusion was brief and her laugh was disbelieving, "Oh, the guys are fine, we haven't been gone _that_ long, Igs."

"It's been a couple weeks." he reminded her, and then gestured between them, "And I think we're starting to get more than a little worse for wear."

"We've been _through_ worse," she argued at him, then glared down at her map, clearly not thrilled. "I thought you were having fun, well, aside from blowing up..."

"It's not . . . it's not about being blown up."

"Then I don't see what you're worried about. You mean you're really not having fun?"

" _Fionna_ ," His flames crackled agitatedly at his shoulders, as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to find a way to say this that won't have _her_ blowing up at him, "Fionna, I'm having fun, _lots_ of fun, it's _always_ fun being with you, but I'm—"

"Still tired? If it's more fire you need I can always make you another—"

"But I'm _worried_ about _you_." he cut in, cutting her off. There, he said it.

The relief of no longer having to hold his tongue is now coupled with the apprehension of now having said it. Putting these words out there puts him on a precipice, where he could reel back onto solid ground or tip forward into a long, unforgiving fall.

She stares blankly at him for a moment, before a small, incredulous smile tugs at a corner of her mouth.

"Heh."

She's looking at him as if he'd spoken Gibberish.

"Why would you be worried about me?"

"You fell asleep," he reminded her, "You _keep_ falling asleep lately."

"That's all?" She waved that off. "Igni, that's what being a little tired does to you. I'll take a nap later if it'll make you feel better, okay?"

"You've been 'a little tired' for a long time," he insisted, "No matter how much you sleep."

"I don't see how that's such a big—"

"We've been out here for _two weeks,_ " he spat out, a few sparks flew from his mouth to die in a hiss on the ground. "You've been to that cave four times."

She'd frozen. That small, disbelieving grin is stuck to her face like it'd been tacked there. Another small laugh, and she asks nervously, "Are you sure _you're_ not the one who needs a little more sleep, Igs? We've - we've only been there twice, you know, the first step is to scout out the area and then—"

"—the second step is to explore it, I _know._ " he interrupted. "You've . . . repeated the second step _twice_ for the past week." He went on, his tongue is like a broken dam, the speech spills, and he's feeling the fall from the precipice yawn out before him with each condemning word. "It was only this time around that we got mobbed by the demons. They, I, I don't even know, they probably got interested in all the noise we were making."

The smile was gone from her face now. She looked between him and what she was working on.

"My map." she tried to say, "M-my map wasn't marked."

"You wiped it, whenever we came back here to record it," he told her bluntly, rubbing his face, sparks snapping between the friction of his palm and his skin, making crackling noises. "I didn't know what you were doing until you'd already done it, you probably thought you made a mistake and just - erased it. Or at least that's what it looked like. I didn't know what actually went down until the next morning, when you were just . . . ready to go explore that same stupid cave."

Silence.

He slowly looks up from over his hand and she's still there, elbows on the boulder, face in her palms. He doesn't know if this is okay or bad.

"F-Fionna, I—"

"Don't."

He shuts up, and waits.

The silence continues, broken by the noise of the forest around them, the movements of distant creatures large and small, and the sounds of strange birds.

". . . Did I ever find anything in there?" she finally asked quietly, still hidden by her hands.

"Not yet," he told her readily, "It went deeper than we thought it would. We haven't found anything important."

She nodded slowly, before dragging her hands down her face to mesh in front of her mouth, staring at some point in the distance.

Fionna breathed in, then let it out in a slow sigh.

He said nothing, until she told him she was sorry.

"Don't be _sorry_ ," he protested, almost offended by the thought.

"What am I supposed to be, then? 'Oh, whoops, I'm goin' bats, oh well let's do the same thing over again a million times until you get blown up, tee hee!'?!" she snarled, _"Glob."_ Then she blinked and rounded on him, "And why didn't you tell me the first time?!"

"I was having fun." It was the plain, simple truth, _"We_ were having fun and you seemed happy so I - I guess I was just waiting for you to . . ."

"To snap out of it." she finished, the anger having quickly gone out. Now she just looked tired.

"Yes, to remember on your own." He gave a small growl to himself, throwing a look of general disgust at the ground. "I thought maybe it'd been just some curse from the cave or something or - so I'd _hoped_ , but..." He was looking forward to the day when he'd be able to shoot flames from his eyes. He didn't know if he actually could, but that would be so cathartic right now. "I didn't mean to tell you like this."

She sighed at that, "Well, I wouldn't think there'd be any _easy_ way to say it, do you?" He couldn't think of one, and they relapsed into silence.

". . . This isn't as easy as it used to be." she observed wearily.

He didn't say anything, until her fist came down so hard that the rock beneath cracked, spewing dust from the fissures. He jumped at the gunshot-like sound.

 _"Shuck!"_

He continued to say nothing as she hit it again, then again, before she picked up the boulder and threw it. It only made it to the edge of the clearing. She stomped over to it and _kicked_ , chasing after it again as it rolled, beating whole fragments from its shape. She continued, screaming a long tirade that was beyond words. Her fingers then gouged little furrows into its surface, as she finally hoisted it up and threw it somewhere towards the horizon in a scatter of useless paper, its arcing path destroying vegetation in its descent, sending up a flock of birds to flight wherever it had landed. She stood in the messy debris field, breath heaving and sweat making tracks down her exposed skin.

When it looked like she was done with her destruction, he moved, striding forward and wrapping her up in a hug.

She protested only a little before giving up, letting her head rest against his collarbones.

". . . What are you doing, Igs?" she grumbled hoarsely. "I'm not cold anymore."

"I'm not just a heater," he reminded her, "I'm—"

"You give hugs, I _know,_ dangit."

She hugged back anyway, and he shifted his chin to look down at her. As her face was buried against his chest, he could only see the top of her head.

"I'm a sucky hero." she stated, her voice muffled against him.

"Never." he said lightly, moving a hand to brush at her hair, examining the streaks of white that were threading through the blonde. It was pretty.

"I'll start forgetting where I put my freaking sword, probably leave it in something's body. I won't remember if I chopped off a guy's head and I'll try chopping it off again even though he's headless. I'm forgetting my _adventures_ , Igni, _our_ adventures, and it - it _sucks_."

"It does suck," he agrees, "But that doesn't mean _you_ do."

She says nothing to that, and he winces when drops of moisture begin to sting him, but he bears it.

"Never let me go like that again," she told him, and her voice shook, "If I slip up that bad with something that big I want to know, okay?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"Even if I ask you something and I already asked you before, like, a hundred times, please don't get mad at me."

"I won't. I'm sorry."

"And don't freaking say you're sorry, dummy."

"Alright. I won't if you won't."

She hiccuped a little, and nodded.

Then she asked, sounding even more vulnerable, "Did - did _they_ know how I was - before they let you go with me?"

"It was because of this that they let me go with you," he explained, then grinned, squeezing her a little, "One of the reasons anyway. But you know I was going to take any excuse to get you alone, away from your guard dogs."

She gave a watery laugh at that, hitting him lightly with one her fists.

". . . So they did know, huh?"

"The vampire probably sensed something, and Gumball suspected." he admitted, "He tried mixing some medicines into your snacks, just in case."

She grumbled at that.

"Sneaky _jerks_."

"You know it's only because they love you."

"Yeah, yeah." She slumped a little in his hold, "Fat lot of good medicine did."

"I think we can chalk this case up as an 'episode'." he eased, trying to soothe her, "We can go back and you can all go talk together about feelings and science-y things and whatever to try and make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Mmrgh."

He couldn't see it, but he could feel her face scrunching up at the thought.

"I'm still mad at you." she then growled, and her little hands clenched gently into his back, though she's not hurting him.

"I'm _angry_ , Igni. Do you understand why?"

He nodded hesitantly.

"No more sneaking behind my back, any of you," she told him, looking him in the eyes as she said it, and her look hurt more than hitting him would. "That's gotten so old that it's not even funny. I think we all should be grown past that by now. Get it?"

"Got it." he mumbled.

She nodded, "Good."

She stepped back; he let her. She brushed her own hair out her face, looking around at the mess she'd caused.

"We should probably head home now." she decided. "Let's pack up."

She's scavenging the pieces of map while he's sorting through their supplies, when she speaks up.

"Igni?"

He looks up from what he's doing.

"I'm still mad at you," she repeated. He nods wordlessly.

"But I still forgive you, okay?"

And just like that, he's fallen back onto good, solid earth, no longer balancing on a precipice. It's an almost physical feeling.

"O-okay." He breathes out in relief. "Okay. Thank you."

She nods, offers a small smile at him, and he knows she's still - and that she always will be - the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"I'm not gonna hear any end of jokes from Cake," she suddenly realized, and he's slightly thrown by the non sequitur. He frowns in confusion, not quite understanding, when Fionna grins, "The crazy cat lady will force me to learn how to knit, and then we will make strait jackets together and be jacket buddies."

Igni laughed a little at that.

"And hey, hey," she added, "Whenever I want to go on a treasure hunt, I can just hide my own now, right?"

". . ."

". . ."

 _"Pffft!"_

It's a stupid, terrible joke, they both know that.

But it keeps them both laughing until they have to lean on each other to stay upright, all the way home.

* * *

. . .

* * *

 _A note from the Author:_

 _Hello, dear reader! This was largely an attempt to kick my writing brain back into gear - it felt good to write this. It helped refresh some ideas in my mind, get some things in perspective, and may also help to let you know that I'm, well, still here._

 _Thank you for reading, and as always, your thoughts are welcome._


End file.
